Tattered Reputations
by Calculate Freedom
Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts the Malfoys lost everything except their lives. Now Draco is left to put back the pieces of his tattered life. Basically Draco angst. Three shot, I suppose. WARNING: contains thoughts of suicide
1. Chapter 1

Draco was shaking. Yes, the great Draco Malfoy who had once believed himself invincible and superior to most everyone was trembling and pale like a child. Though, truly he was still a child despite having come of age more than a year ago. Draco recognised the feeling twisting through him like a disease. Before, in what felt like another life, he tried to supress it and it had worked for a while. But, even with years of experience presenting a cold, unaffected demeanour, cracks began to show. He soon learned to accept it. Though it was hardly a choice. This feeling, it was an unstoppable, strong beast that Draco could not tame for long. Not forever. With it suddenly so _there_ in his life where it once had been a passing feeling, it overwhelmed Draco. This fear he felt, it was a path that he followed. He did not want to but he had to. Perhaps one day he could escape. Draco found it almost too much to hope for.

Why should he not feel fear? Draco was going to, that very morning, face a trial in which his fate would be decided. He had the Dark Mark. He had attempted to murder the previous headmaster of Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore. His actions had caused death and pain. He, like his parents before him, had supported the Dark Lord Voldemort; a murderer, taker of countless lives. This in itself was incriminating enough to put Draco in Azkaban. All that remained was the conduit to said prison. Hence the trial.

It had been months since Voldemort fell. During that period the Wizarding World had to build up from the ground, leaving time only for the trials of the most loyal, vile Death Eaters that still lived following the Battle of Hogwarts. Draco's father, Lucius Malfoy, had been one of the first to have a trial. Lucius, however, provided so much invaluable evidence against his fellow Death Eaters the Ministry of Magic had no choice but to let him walk free. With the rage, fear and intensity of war cooling the lesser criminals, such as Draco and his mother, Narcissa, became the new focus of the Ministry. Previous failures of the Ministry following wars combined with ex-Auror, Kingsley Shacklebolt, as the new Minster of Magic meant the Ministry was much more thorough with their investigations. In addition, prodding from the 'golden trio' spurred justice along if the Ministry dared grow lax.

With his thin, finely boned hands – Narcissa had often commented on how elegant his hands were but they now seemed skeletal – Draco tugged at his shirt's collar with some difficulty. His hands were bound together with some sort of magical fabric that would not yield; not that Draco put in much effort to break them. It would be futile. Draco's shirt was black, of course, underneath a stream-lined, black blazer paired with tailored, black trousers and polished, black shoes. His expensive clothes, which had seemed so refined and appropriate when Draco first donned it, filling him with a small surge of confidence, felt like bindings to rival those around his wrists. He could scarcely breathe with his collar wrapping around his throat like a band of steel, or perhaps it was the fear. Sweat beaded under the silk of his shirt and at his neat, slicked back hairline. Draco clenched his fists as fear began to creep its way out as a physical reaction. He refused to let anyone see what had rooted within him so deeply it almost felt a part of him. Not the wizard guard that watched over him from the other end of the hallway, looking bored but wary; not the people within the courtroom waiting to decide his fate. The world could only observe so much of Draco's fear before he bottled it away. He was not a Malfoy and his father's son for nothing.

The months following the war Draco had spent in Malfoy Manor, hiding from society with his parents like the criminals they were. Lucius was quickly plucked from his sanctum to stand trial, leaving Narcissa and Draco to their own devices. In a matter of weeks Lucius returned, mildly shaken up, but still the three were not foolish enough to venture out of the safety of the Manor. The public continued to see the Malfoys as guilty even if the law did not.

Narcissa had continued on as if nothing had ever happened. She entertained herself with trifles, doing her duty as mistress of the house. One could not see a change in her manner except that she checked on her son far more, fluttering around him like a mother hen, and she was forced to do her own housework. Spells were used – she was a witch after all – but she was unaccustomed to such menial labour.

The reason behind the change in Narcissa's duties was due to the loss of all help. Any witch or wizard the Malfoys could have hired to perform such tasks had they need of it became unapproachable. Both Voldemort's followers and his enemies hated the Malfoys, supporters of the Dark Lord who had jumped to the other side at the last minute. Neither side trusted the Malfoys any longer.

The other option, house elves, had been taken away by Lucius. The head of Malfoy Manor was cunning; he had been sorted into Slytherin after all. From past experiences, also known as Dobby, Lucius knew Harry Potter was opposed to house elf slavery. Draco had also informed him of Hermione Granger's ridiculous desire to free all house elves. Since that was two thirds of the 'golden trio', who had considerable power in the Ministry, were rooting for house elf rights Lucius realised it was probable keeping unpaid house elves could become illegal. Lucius was a coward. He did not want to return to Azkaban, a year had been long enough, and he would not put it past someone to use it against him. The most logical course of action would be to fire all house elves and erase their memories lest they be used against him and his family. So that is what Lucius did. It also would be logical, perhaps more so, to instead pay house elves to do housework, thus helping repair the soiled Malfoy reputation in the process. But he did not trust them to not turn on him like that wretched elf Dobby.

The Manor, which had always been quiet, descended into an almost deathly silence. When Narcissa ceased fussing, shuddering to a halt like an ancient motor vehicle out of gas, the large house felt frozen to Draco. As if Malfoy Manor held its breath for Narcissa's carrying on like her world had not shattered. Otherwise one would think the house abandoned.

Before Lucius' disgrace had occurred, before Draco had gone to Hogwarts, Draco had thought his parents incredibly boring, as most adults were to the young boy. It was an unfortunate consequence that Draco was often incurably bored, caused by a child growing up in a big house with often only his parents and instructor for company. His parents went to various affairs, sometimes dragging him along, and they all seemed so dull. Unless other children were present, such as Theodore Nott or Vincent Crabbe, Draco found such doings pointless. This is not to say he liked all children but he did enjoy to taunt those he disliked.

Adults could not be made fun of like children and their age made them slightly more intimidating to young Draco. In addition, Lucius had threatened punishment if Draco acted out in front of important people. That was enough to stop Draco misbehaving at _another_ fancy dinner amongst adult. Even once Draco was at Hogwarts he did not think about what his parents did. He was self-absorbed, no denying it, and did not acknowledge that people had much of a life outside his own. Especially his parents. So when Draco found upon returning from the war to his childhood home how much life his parents brought to Malfoy Manor it was a shock. When his mother lapsed into her own silences, alongside Draco's more frequent ones, Malfoy Manor felt dead.

Draco haunted a select few rooms in the house. Most rooms he avoided: the drawing-room Charity Burbage, a Muggle Studies teacher, was murdered in and Hermione Granger was tortured in; the cellar used as a prison; anywhere Voldemort had been. There were memories lurking there that were better left untouched.

He was no less sallow and gaunt than he had been during the war. Dressed in all black did little to distract from his unusual paleness, instead highlighting it by the utter contrast. If Draco had dared to wear white he could have resemble a ghost that floated through the halls of Hogwarts. In truth the grim expression plastered to his face most days matched that of the more dour ghosts. Narcissa could not recall when she had last heard her son laugh ever since the war. Nor could she recall her own or her husband's.

Some believe that Malfoy Manor was devoid of all joy and happiness. They forget that the Malfoys are human too; their range of emotions as complex and vast as any other person. A person may be horrible but that does not entail the absence of more positive feelings. Voldemort and the war submerged the Malfoys in fear, pain and suffering just like many others were. Like candle flames, the joy, happiness and general comforting feeling of safety were snuffed out by the immense weight of their darker counterparts. At that point, the suspicions were true. Malfoy Manor was devoid of joy and happiness. Voldemort was dead and gone, the war over but the Malfoys were an unlucky lot. The Wizarding World still watched them with distaste and hatred, any allies left from the war watched them with parallel emotions, the traitors to their Lord. The Malfoys would have suffered from either outcome of the war. They belonged nowhere but in a small crevice between the two sides, hunched in the shadows. Really, all and all, they should be very grateful they were not dead. None pitied them but the Malfoys themselves. They were bullies, the lot of them, and deserved what they got. The Malfoys wished that Voldemort had never come back from the dead at all.

Now they were a sorry sight, the Malfoys. Lucius wore a haughty exterior like a second skin but the confidence he once had was lacking. He only came across as foolish and pathetic. Narcissa retained her grace but her smiles pinned on for the sake of her husband and son were weak, as though they would break. Her own snobbish mannerism were obsolete as she no longer saw anyone other than family. It left behind a tired, fragile woman who clung to love for her family like a lifeline. Brief, occasional snaps showed the pride she once had, but it was more draining than it had ever been before. And Draco, well, he did not even try anymore. What was the point?

Though recently, new hope for his mother, Draco began to play music loudly in his bedroom. Perhaps he found the silences too stifling; too depressing. Maybe it was his upcoming trial. Narcissa did not really know. All she knew was that one day she had been in kitchen, preparing lunch for the three of them and becoming increasingly frustrated with her husband's favourite dish, when the distant sound of music thrummed through the Manor. "Draco!" Narcissa called without the use of a Sonorous Charm, working her way towards his bedroom. "What is that noise?" Narcissa found that the closer she got to Draco's bedroom the louder the noise became. She rapped on the door to his bedroom but the racket coming from within it buried the sound so she decided to go in. When she opened the door there lay Draco on his bed next to an unfamiliar ancient radio blasting rock music she recognised as the Weird Sisters. "Darling! What are you- never mind!" Narcissa huffed, giving up trying to scream at Draco and turning off the radio with a flick of her wand.

For a second Draco looked like a regular, confused boy his age, searching for the reason his music had been silenced. When he saw Narcissa standing in the doorway he schooled his expression into a blank mask. "Mother. I did not realise you were there."

Narcissa stared at her son before comprehending how uncultured it was to do so. "Oh, of course dear. Don't fret. May I ask where you got that _radio_ from?" Narcissa asked, saying radio with faint distaste. She did not approve of something so Muggle in Malfoy Manor, even if it did only have magical stations. "And why were you playing music at such a loud volume?" it was an effort on Narcissa's part to put it delicately. Since the war she least of all wanted to be the one making Draco's life any more upsetting. So it jolted Narcissa when her practically apathetic son for the past months lost his cool.

"I _am_ of age, mother, if you were unaware," Draco jabbed. "I am perfectly capable of going out on my own for five minutes! And just because _you_ feel like babying me does not mean I cannot discretely buy an old radio! As for the volume of the music, this damn house is so bloody large I didn't think it would be an issue!" Narcissa's eyes widened as Draco's rant went on until they were positively popping by the time Draco had concluded, panting with exertion. Draco's own eyes stretched a little when it hit what he had just done in the presence of his mother. "Excuse my behaviour," he muttered. "I'm sorry for… that. Thank you for your concern. Um… is lunch almost ready?" Once lunch had finished Draco resumed playing music and Narcissa knew better than to check on him.


	2. Chapter 2

"Mister Draco Malfoy. You may enter," announced a booming voice from behind the dark, grimy door. It swung open to reveal a large dungeon. Draco hesitated at the entrance but his guard eyed him and pointed his wand at Draco's neck, challenging Draco to give him a reason to fire a curse. Striding into the room with as much dignity as he could muster, Draco marched to the chair in the centre of the room. Poised to sit a voice rung out, making Draco flinch.

"Stop!" Draco's guard commanded. The guard waved his wand and Draco's bonds fell away. Astonished, Draco froze. "Sit!" the guard barked. Quickly Draco dropped into the chair and the chains covering its arms sprang to life, winding around Draco like snakes. Draco's eyes tightened as he watched the glowing chains shackle him to the chair but he did not struggle.

Once the chains' glow faded a tall, thin man stood up from his seat in the very middle of the front row of benches. He had thick-framed spectacles perched on his upturned nose, thinning ruddy hair curled around his ears and his plum-coloured robes were slightly creased. His expression was serious but Draco could not help but notice his eyebrows looked like two fuzzy caterpillars on his forehead. "It is the 28th of February, 1999. Hearing of Draco Malfoy for suspected involvement with the evil wizard V-Voldemort." The man looked simultaneously pleased with himself and slightly ill that he had managed to say the Dark Lord's name. There was a pause as the man waited for the sudden burst of muttering to stop. "Suspected involvement in the Secondary Wizarding War as a Death Eater. Also, the illegal use of Unforgivable Curses, aiding Death Eaters with entry into Hogwarts, causing the near death of two students as well as attempted murder of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore and various other doings and such. Interrogator being myself, Henry Siegfried Pickket, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Court Scribe, Magnolia Genevi- need I continue Magnolia? I believe you know the rest."

"No sir," chirped a pretty golden-skinned witch, presumably Magnolia, scribbling frantically.

"Excellent. Let's make this quick, shall we?" Pickket said briskly. "Charges against the accused, let's see," he pulled out a piece of parchment and scanned over the contents. "Being a Death Eater; aiding Voldemort and his followers in full awareness, yes, yes. Attempting to murder Albus Dumbledore three times, nearly killing two students in the process; allowing Death Eaters into Hogwarts, resulting in near death of fellow students; accomplice in the kidnapping of Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Garrick Ollivander, Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas, etcetera, etcetera. In other words," Pickket looked up from the parchment into the accused's eyes, "criminal actions." A pause swept through the dungeon before Pickket snapped; "You are Draco Malfoy of Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire? Eighteen years old?"

Draco's gaze went to the floor. "Yes."

"The charges. Do you object to any of them?" Pickket asked.

For a moment Draco considered lying. But he knew he could not do so with all the evidence the Ministry might have against him. "No."

"You did so knowing the illegality of your actions and that of Voldemort's and his Death Eaters'?"

"Yes."

"And you have the Dark Mark on your forearm, a symbol of your allegiance to said dark wizard?"

"Yes."

"In the defence of the accused he was marked before he came of age. Is this correct?"

"Yes."

"We have several testimonies from witnesses of your crimes. I shall read them aloud and unless you deny any of the claims these witnesses will not be brought in. Do you object?"

"No."

"Well then, let's continue. Clarice Butterfield claims…" and so Pickket read through each formal registered, thoroughly validated, supported testimony. There were eight altogether and as each one passed Draco's stomach sank lower. He could argue against none of them. Each was true. How he wanted to be able to plead his innocence. Draco had no desire to go to the dreaded Azkaban, even with the terrifying Dementors gone as guards. He feared it. Though Malfoy Manor was quiet Draco could avoid being left alone with his own thoughts. In Azkaban he could not. Unless Wizengamot were to take pity on Draco or someone could provide reasons to not convict him, Draco was looking at a brief time in Azkaban. He had no evidence that would be of importance against other Death Eaters as of yet. His father could free him, certainly. Surely Lucius still had enough cards up his sleeve to do so. But how long would it take? Draco was not sure how much of Azkaban he could handle. Already fear was clawing its way through him.

"Do you, Draco Malfoy, have any objections?" Pickket finally concluded. Draco did not trust himself to speak calmly so he shook his head. "Alright then. Next I call on a witness who asked to personally be here to speak in defence of the accused. Mister Harry James Potter, please step forward."

Loud whispers broke out in the courtroom and many heads whipped to the corner the famous Harry Potter walked out of, Draco's included. It was a wonder he was not spotted earlier. Pickket had a smug smile on his face that said he knew beforehand of Harry Potter's presence. "Sir Pickket," Harry nodded respectfully. "Members of Wizengamot. Thank you for allowing me to speak today for the defence of Draco Malfoy." Draco was positive he heard a witch sigh dreamily at this. He might have sneered ha he not been paralysed with extreme shock. _The_ Harry Potter was at his hearing? The same Harry Potter he was enemies with throughout his school life? The same Harry Potter that had saved his life twice at the Battle of Hogwarts?

It was him. Glasses, scar and all. Here to defend Draco Malfoy, who he hated and Draco hated right back. "Potter?" Draco spluttered at last. Harry glared at Draco as if to say "shut up and let me handle this before you make things worse". Draco was too gobsmacked to do anything but gape.

"Yes," Harry answered curtly before turning back to Pickket and Wizengamot. "Wizards and witches of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, today we have a very interesting trial. Draco Malfoy has committed many punishable offences which he has openly admitted too. However he was underage when given the Dark Mark and under pressure from Voldemort in many cases at the threat of his family. Most notably is the attempted murder of Professor Dumbledore. During his sixth year of school Draco was tasked with the murder of Albus Dumbledore by Voldemort himself, who was certain he would fail. When Draco failed Voldemort planned to kill Draco and his parents as final punishment for Lucius' failure to get a very important prophecy concerning myself and Voldemort from me and my friends at the Department of Mysteries." Some shifted uncomfortably in their seats at the mention of that particular incident within the Ministry and others at Harry's casual use of the name Voldemort. Even Pickket said the name with fear whereas Harry had none. A sickening feeling twisted in Draco's gut as he thought of that awful year, the threat of death hanging over him constantly.

"Draco did attempt to murder Dumbledore throughout the year using a cursed necklace and poisoned mead, with the help of Rosmerta, who was under the Imperius Curse," Harry continued undeterred by the outburst. "I witnessed both attempts nearly kill Katie Bell and Ron Weasley. Failures, feeble attempts at best, just as Voldemort predicted." Was this supposed to clear Draco of his charges, Draco thought bewilderedly, or convict him? "As the year went on and Draco became more aware of the difficulty of his task and the likelihood of his failure he became stressed, frightened and increasingly desperate. This can be supported by evidence from students and teachers at Hogwarts during that year, including myself. Moaning Myrtle, a ghost of a student killed by Tom Riddle, young Voldemort, could also provide a testimony." Draco thought of the sympathetic ghost who had offered him a chance to let out his emotions and fears when he had no one else to turn to. Then he thought of Harry finding him crying to Myrtle in the bathroom. His fear had been magnified and focused into his spells as he duelled with Harry. All his rage, envy, weakness and the want to make another, perfect Potter, suffer as he was channelled as he began to cast the Cruciatus Curse. The pain of Harry's curse as his skin was slashed open and Moaning Myrtle's screams. Draco almost cringed.

"Yet Voldemort underestimated Draco," Harry smiled wryly. "Draco fixed the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement that connected Hogwarts to Borgin and Burkes, allowing the entry of Death Eaters. He planned to put the Dark Mark over the Astronomy Tower to lure Dumbledore there, where Draco would be waiting to kill him, with the Death Eaters as back-up." Draco screwed his eyes shut. _Don't think about it, don't think about it_ , he chanted to himself.

"The plan worked. I would know. I was there, invisible and wordlessly immobilised by Dumbledore for my protection. It would not have boded well with Draco if I had been flinging curses. I would be happy to verify this under Veritaserum but I would rather not. Personal reasons. For now, just take my word for it." Harry grinned and a few people chuckled fondly. Draco started at this news. It explained the second broomstick and Dumbledore's deflection of Draco's question. But it let even more questions in Draco's mind. Harry had seen him almost murder not only his Quidditch team-mate and best friend but also the man Harry looked up to. But still he defended Draco that day?

Harry sobered and wrung his hands; "I witnessed Draco disarm Dumbledore. Draco spent valuable time talking with Dumbledore and even with his wand pointed at the Headmaster Draco did not strike. Dumbledore was defenceless, Draco knew Voldemort would kill him if he failed and yet he did not kill Dumbledore. The Death Eaters Amycus Carrow, Alecto Carrow, Fenrir Greyback and Yaxley joined Draco, insisting he kill Dumbledore but still Draco did not do it. Snape – excuse me, Severus Snape," Harry amended, "killed Dumbledore at Dumbledore's order and to protect Draco."

The night on the Astronomy Tower, cold wind biting as Draco faced down his Headmaster, Dumbledore's calm words, the crippling indecision and the immense, ever there fear rushed at Draco. It was too much, picturing Dumbledore falling like a wax-work doll into the night. The overwhelming shock of watching death, the horror and the shameful undercurrent of relief that it was not him that killed Dumbledore rose up in Draco's chest. _Snape killed Dumbledore, Dumbledore let Snape kill him_ , thought Draco, _to protect me from the Dark Lord_. And then Draco gagged violently. Eyes flew to Draco gasping in his chair, expression pained and drawn. "Draco would not have killed Dumbledore," Harry said, nearly drowned out to Draco by the blood pounding in his ears. "As you mentioned earlier, Sir Pickket, Draco became a Death Eater before the age of seventeen. His father was a Death Eater and his mother supported Voldemort. Naturally, this influenced Draco and as we know Voldemort was not above threatening the death of the Malfoys. You cannot condemn a child for being forced into support of Voldemort by fear."

"Though this is true, Mister Potter," a witch with coiled, steel grey hair and a stern face input, "Mister Malfoy's support was continued long after Dumbledore's death. Many of the Death Eaters were spurred by fear of the Dark Lord but they still caused suffering that should be punished. Mister Malfoy used an Unforgivable Curse on an innocent women and committed other crimes that cannot be excused so easily."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Yes, he did use Unforgivable Curses. But, if we are to punish those who have used those curses these past years then I must be punished as well." Noises of protest resounded in the dungeon. The boy who lived? Using Unforgivable Curses? Inconceivable! "I can think of several instances I used some of the illegal curses. And not just in during the war but also at my sixth year at Hogwarts, like Draco. I attempted to use the Cruciatus Curse on Professor Snape twice as he fled the scene of Dumbledore's murder. This was before I was aware he was acting under Dumbledore's orders and of Snape's true feelings on the matter, of course." Witches and wizards throughout the courtroom blinked at Harry Potter, dumbfounded by the revelation that he was not so pure after all. "I daresay none who fought in the war are guilt-free, even those fighting against Voldemort. So, if it is a matter of less than savoury spell-casting, by all means, lock me up as well as Draco. I could also point of many other 'criminals' who fought against Voldemort and I consider close friends and allies." The tension in the courtroom at this proclamation was palpable.

"Oh, and you also brought up how Draco followed Voldemort even after Dumbledore's death?" Harry persisted conversationally. "The threat of death was not gone. As everyone in the Wizarding World knows, my parents were killed by Voldemort." Wizengamot was baffled by this unforeseen turn. "The only family I had left were very unpleasant muggles who were thoroughly protected from Voldemort's wrath. I went into the war with no family to protect. My best friends, Ron and Hermione, came with me to help me defeat Voldemort and I cut off ties with all my other friends. Voldemort had no family to threaten me with but he still managed to use my friends against me at the battle of Hogwarts, using them to get me to offer myself up. Draco had a family that he obviously cared about. Voldemort was _powerful_. The only person he feared was Dumbledore, one of the most powerful wizards in history. Most did not stand a chance against Voldemort. It took enormous amounts of luck that I am still alive at all. Draco knew this. He was scared and he had his family to protect. If Draco had actively opposed Voldemort do you think his parents would still be alive? No. Or him for that matter? Not likely. Think about your own families. If Voldemort threatened their lives would you oppose Voldemort? If Voldemort held a wand to the throat of Ron or Hermione or Ginny and told me to jump off a building, I would. If he tortured them and told me that the only way to stop it was to use the Cruciatus Curse on myself, I would do it. Voldemort used love as a weapon against those who would defy him. Draco was merely a victim of this, like many others.

"And from all those testimonies not one speaks of an instance Draco fought against us at the battle of Hogwarts except in self-defence. In only one instance that I know of did he actively oppose us by attempting to capture me for Voldemort. This was an action of a desperate man and he was adamant about not harming me. Also, when Ron, Hermione and I were taken to Malfoy Manor and Draco was asked to determine if I was truly Harry Potter, as my face had been marred by a Stinging Jinx, Draco was hesitant to identify me despite knowing my true identity. If this does not show that Draco is not truly loyal to Voldemort then I don't know what will. Without Draco's reluctance to hand me over to Voldemort I fear that we would not have won the war.

"Really, is Draco so different from me? The supposed saviour? Voldemort chose both of us, forced us into roles we would grow to hate. Voldemort, by coming to kill me, made me the only person who could defeat him. Voldemort made Draco a weapon to be wielded at Dumbledore. How can one be looked at as a hero while the other is imprisoned? I fought Voldemort to end corruption and injustice. What justice is there in putting a victim of Voldemort in Azkaban?" Harry's gaze swept around the room, piercing each witch and wizard before he stepped back. "Thank you for your time Sir Pickket. Wizards and witches of Wizengamot. I pray you'll make the right decision," and with that Harry returned to his seat in the corner of the dungeon. The room was hushed as the members of Wizengamot and one accused processed what had just occurred. Many found much difficultly doing so.


	3. Chapter 3

**WARNING: here's where the suicidal thoughts come into play. Alongside depression, traumatic nightmares and swearing. Lovely things.**

 **Disclaimer (which I forgot earlier): I don't own Harry Potter. If I did Draco would likely be abused to insane proportions and completely nutters. Poor Draco; karma is a bitch.**

In the end no one could oppose the saviour of the Wizarding World. There was discussion and arguing and decisions were made, Draco sitting through the lot. Luckily, by the time Pickket was calling order to the courtroom Draco had recovered his composure. One could not tell, by looking at him then, his previous state. Breathing under control, palms dried of sweat, faint colour returned to his cheeks and calm expression in place. The picture of Malfoy frostiness. As if he did not care. As if the outcome would not affect him.

"Now then, those in favour of clearing the accused of all charges?" Pickket said. Draco watched the floorboards with feigned nonchalance, unwilling to see his fate playing out. "And those in favour of conviction?" Draco's gaze did not move.

Finally all rustling ceased and Draco moved his head upwards, seeing Magnolia the Court Scribe writing furiously. What results did she note down? Draco worked to keep his expression neutral. No emotions, no fear, would seep out if he could help it. "Well now," Pickket turned grave, "a verdict has been reached. The accused is cleared of all charges." Draco was able to remain outwardly stoic by this. Inside he was numb. The chains wrapped around his arms glowed, joyously it seemed, and detangled themselves, freeing Draco and leaving shallow red indents in their wake.

"However, Mister Malfoy," Pickket had a look of stone about his gaze, it felt to Draco. This did not seem customary for the end of most trials. "It should be known that the Ministry will be monitoring you for signs of true loyalty to the Dark Lord and any other criminal actions. And this will be recorded. The Wizarding World will know." Draco inclined his head, in a gesture of acknowledgement, not letting any feeling slip onto his features. It was a warning. He knew better now than to ignore it. "You are free to go," Pickket intoned.

Oh, how appropriate his wording was. Free. Draco was free. He would not have to sit in a cell, waiting for father to bail him out. Legally, Draco was not a true criminal. He was smart enough to know that according to social standards he was not, nor would he likely ever be, free of the crushing weight of judgement. But some of the burden had been lifted. An outcast he would be for a long time yet, perhaps until the day he died and even after that, but it helped his case that he was not convicted. Draco had enough guilt without being found guilty in a courtroom.

From the chair Draco rose with a dignified air. If one had not seen him bound to the chair it might be assumed he had only sat down for an unimportant meeting. Draco swept out of the dungeon with no parting words. What would be the point? Once in the hallway he slipped into a shadowy corner, waiting. The door swung open soon after and Harry walked out. "Hey, Potter," Draco sauntered over.

Harry sighed heavily. "Come on then," he said elusively and marched into the Department of Mysteries. Draco followed as Harry confidently weaved his way through passages and doors until they were in a small, dusty room dank from misuse with a few sad looking boxes stacked in the corner. "I s'pose you were lurking by the door 'cos you want to have a chat," Harry ran a hand through his already messy black hair, "and I figured you wouldn't want to have it in front of prying eyes and ears. I'm sure the Prophet would love to get their hands on an exclusive conversation between the boy who lived and one of Voldemort's Death Eaters. Same year in Hogwarts to tops! Watch out for beetles," Harry said darkly. "I wouldn't put it past her. Especially now. So what do you want, Malfoy? To insult me? You just curious? Maybe a little bit of both? Just don't take all day please. I have a lot to do."

It was too tiring for Draco to fight back. Once upon a time he would have been outraged by Potter and his brusque attitude. Perhaps later he would find the strength to be so. Right then, he wanted answers. He could not allow himself to get in the way of that. "I want to know, why?" Draco was ashamed he sounded vulnerable, his voice raw. Harry looked surprised at Draco's forthcoming but considered the question all the same.

"You know I don't like you. Never have. You bullied me and my friends, thought yourself better than everyone." Draco said nothing. "I was the most against you in sixth year. I was so sure you were a Death Eater, that you were behind the attempts to murder Professor Dumbledore. No one really believed me but I was right," Harry did not look happy about this. "That doesn't mean you deserve to be locked up. It was the right thing to defend you. Doesn't mean I'm happy about and I'd prefer if your father was in a cell where he belongs." Draco shrugged. He probably did. That did not mean Lucius would ever find himself in prison for long. Lucius Malfoy was far too slippery for that.

"Thank you," Draco whispered at last. Whatever Harry was expecting it certainly was not that. Harry glared at Draco, searching for a reason for this abrupt thanks. It could have reached from defending him at his trial, saving his life twice at the Battle of Hogwarts or encompassed both. Harry could not be sure; Draco's expression – blank and pale – gave away little. The atmosphere was thick with awkwardness as Harry escorted Draco out of the Department of Mysteries. Their mutual dislike funnelled into the strangeness of normal interaction without ridiculing, scoffing or threatening and/or carrying out violence. With that, the two opposites parted.

It started with a nightmare. Like most wizards and witches of his generation it featured Voldemort. Draco was in the drawing room, Death Eaters lining the walls. Voldemort stood at the opposite end of the room as if he and Draco were to duel. His parents were absent. With his black robes rippling Voldemort walked to Draco and the fear became a physical thing. It was thick and dark and bubbled up like blood in his throat until he was choking on it. Struggling to breathe, Draco watched in horror as Voldemort swooped ever closer. Fear grew in Draco so much so that he fell to his knees as at last the Dark Lord came to stand over Draco.

"Draco," Voldemort hissed, pale face looming above him. "They failed me. It is up to you to punish them, Draco. You will kill them." They were words Draco had heard before. _You will kill him_. Voldemort stepped away and in the middle of the room was two still bodies. As if struck with a curse the bodies jerked to life and Draco saw their faces. His parents. They began screaming, begging and sobbing, the sound like a memory of Charity Burbage suspended in the air pleading and Hermione Granger crying as Aunt Bellatrix tortured her.

"No! NO!" Draco yelled, fear pouring out of his mouth. "I won't do it!" He tried to get to his parents writhing not so far away but in the wicked way of dreams he was chained to the ground.

"Ah, but you must Draco," Voldemort whispered, stroking Draco's cheek with his long fingers but Draco could not pull away. "You must or I will kill them."

"No," Draco gasped. "Please no." Draco had always thought Voldemort was most terrifying when he did not raise his voice but kept it eerily quiet. When Voldemort shouted he was either enraged or extremely pleased. But when his voice was soft you never quite knew what lurked there, when he would strike. So naturally in his nightmare Voldemort's voice was always dangerously low.

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Voldemort intoned, followed by the horrifying cackling and hollers of the Death Eaters echoing throughout the room. "Either you kill your dear mummy and daddy or you kill yourself." The grin that stretched Voldemort's mouth was cruel and maliciously happy, his red eyes glinting.

Draco froze, the shrieks of his parents suddenly magnified. _I have to do it_ , he thought, _but can I?_ His wand appeared in his hand as they do in dreams and with a shaking hand he brought it to his head.

"Do it," Voldemort murmured in Draco's ear, revulsion sending shivers down his spine. "Them or you, Draco," the Dark Lord cooed. "I don't have all day." As if to prove his point Draco's parents became louder and more distorted. Draco's hand trembled violently and he opened his mouth to say the words. _Just two words_ , he told himself, _two words and it will all be over_. But the words did not come out. Only fear dribbled out, the ink black ooze pooling around Draco.

 _Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!_ Draco mouthed it over and over but not a sound escaped, the cries of his parents' only building. Tears ran down Draco's face as he desperately silently screamed the words of the Killing Curse.

"Do it, Draco," Voldemort demanded. "Hurry up!"

"DRACO!" his mother screeched. "PLEASE!"

Narcissa's pleas flipped a switch. Draco could speak again. He braced himself and bellowed; "Avada Kedav-"

And Draco woke up like he had been electrocuted. He sat up ramrod straight, fighting with his bedsheets and panting hard. After realising where he was Draco put his head in his hands, finding his cheeks wet and tasting sweat on his upper lip. It was very early in the morning but Draco knew he would not be falling asleep again. He flopped back onto his bed, still breathing heavily, and stared at his ceiling, thoughts whirring.

The nightmares continued, waking Draco up obscenely early. That is, if he slept at all for fear of the horrors he would see. Narcissa saw very little of her son that week, as he opted to get something to eat at random times during the day, but she did not force him to spend time with her. Her hearing made her realise that Draco was not a boy anymore but a man. If he wanted to be alone she would respect her son's wishes. As long as he ate and she occasionally saw him.

By the ninth day of nightmares Draco was gaunt with exhaustion. To appease his mother he would make a brief appearance sufficiently groomed with the infamous Malfoy mask in place. She seemed to sense something was amiss but chose to give him room, for which Draco was immensely grateful for. He did not need his mother meddling and making things worse.

Music hummed through Malfoy Manor almost every hour, only silenced as Draco slept and switched on as soon as he woke. It helped to drown out some of the fear that should have been dimming but, since the nightmares began, had grown and grown until Draco could not contain it for more than a few minutes at a time. The sun had just begun to rise on the ninth day and already music blared. Draco sat on the edge of his bed lost in his own mind.

Charity Burbage. How long had she floated there in front of him and Draco did nothing? How long did he sit there watching her mouth open in a silent scream and her eyes begging him to do something, anything? He had told Crabbe and Goyle she deserved to go. That Hogwarts did not need professors like her teaching students about filthy muggles. Then Voldemort killed her without a thought. Laughed at her death.

Hermione Granger. Draco had bullied her viciously. She was a mudblood, she deserved it. He had told so many people that he wanted Granger dead. He had imagined the basilisk in his second year eating her alive and smiled. He had thought about torturing her every time she beat him on a test, about how great it would feel to see her squirm like the vermin she was. In Malfoy Manor he watched his mad aunt, for even he could see the madness in Bellatrix's eyes, do just that. Did nothing as Aunt Bellatrix carved mudblood into her skin and Hermione screamed and screamed.

Katie Bell. Ron Weasley. It had seemed so innocent then. He hadn't meant to. What was the life of two Gryffindors anyway? The people in the cellar. It was not his business. Dumbledore. It was him or Draco and his family. He had to. The lives at the Battle of Hogwarts. The girl he had sent flying back to protect himself. The bodies lying in the school. Bodies of children. All just collateral damage.

Harry Potter. The boy who lived. The one who got all the attention, fame and glory. Perhaps most of all he had wanted Potter dead. For the world to see once and for all that Draco Malfoy was superior. But when he had seen the body in the oaf Hagrid's arms and Voldemort had cried the words "HARRY POTTER IS DEAD!" there was no rush of pleasure. No sense of triumph. Only Voldemort and fear.

Subconsciously Draco had picked up his wand. He stared at this stick of wood that contained magic strong enough to do incredible things. A stick of wood that could destroy so much. Two words floated in his mind and hatred. Years' worth of self-hatred that Draco never had until the fear and Voldemort and life. It was a duel-edged sword, rushing at him through his new perspective. He was terrible. It was the first time Draco had ever thought this but it hit him with its truth. He was like Voldemort, Bellatrix and the Death Eaters he had feared and despised. He smiled at the pain of others and laughed at their misfortune. They deserved it he told himself. But it was not true. It was him that deserved it, the pain and suffering he had wished on others.

It was too much. The wand rose to his head, a mirror image of his nightmare. He could not take it; the awakened empathy within him would eat him alive. _Them or you, Draco_. His hand began to shake. He could do it. He hated himself enough. That was the key with the Killing Curse, just like the Cruciatus Curse, you had to mean it. You had to want it. Draco wanted it. He wanted it gone. His mother would not discover his body until much later. No one would interrupt him at this hour and if they did it would be too late. Draco was not Harry Potter. The Killing Curse was unstoppable.

"Avad-" Draco's voice broke and he cleared his throat. He closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him. Two words. All it takes.

"Avada Kedav-" but he gagged on the word. Draco took a deep breath to steady himself. Try again.

"Avada Ke… Avada… Avada…" but Draco could not say the two words he wanted to say. It was just like his nightmare except now nothing was stopping him but himself. He began to cry as, over and over again, he tried but failed to say the words. "Avada… Avada… Avada…" Like a broken record. "Avada… Avada… Avada…"

At last he threw his wand across the room. It bounced off the wall and fell with a clatter to the floor. Draco curled into a ball and his shoulders shook as he sobbed onto his knees. He was a coward. He wanted escape but he was not even able say two words. He took the coward's way out but was not even brave enough to go through with it. A coward like every other Malfoy.

"Avada fucking Kedavra," he spat venomously to himself, tears rolling down his face. "Just a coward. A fucking coward." In that moment Draco hated himself more than he ever had in his short life. Perhaps more than he ever will.

"You coward."

 **A/N: On a lighter note, I wrote Avada a grand total of 15 times in this chapter. Guess we know what I would go to Azkaban for.**

 **That's the end, folks! (Please think happy thoughts and review)**


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